


I Wish I Could Love You

by murdochinthetardis



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, It's an angst hamburger with fluff buns, M/M, Old Timey Gays, Temporary Character Death, flashbacks and jumping around in time a bit, fluff then angst then fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdochinthetardis/pseuds/murdochinthetardis
Summary: The relationship between John Henry Holliday and Robert Svane may be secret, but it is loving and tender nonetheless. However, one day in 1887 changes everything.
Relationships: Doc Holliday/Bobo Del Rey | Robert Svane
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	I Wish I Could Love You

Robert’s fingers traced the edge of the brown paper wrapping. It was plain, yes, bound together with twine, but it was wrapped with care. He undid the little bow and gently unfolded the paper.

 _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. A brand new copy by the looks of it. Robert lifted the book out of the packaging and opened the front cover. There was a note on the inside of it, John Henry’s handwriting without a doubt. Robert adjusted his gold rimmed glasses and read;

“Dearest Robert,

“You are going to make me bankrupt with the speed by which you read these books. Make this one last for at least a while, darling. I hope you enjoy it.

“Much love, John Henry Holliday.” Signed with a little heart at the end.

Robert felt his cheeks flush. Even without being present, Doc Holliday made him weak the way no man should. He doted on Robert. The secret letters, little gifts, gentle touches when nobody was looking. Doc Holliday was a man who loved danger, but this? This was danger of a different kind.

If Wyatt suspected anything, he didn’t say it. Robert kept up the appearance of a chaste man of the church, saving himself for the right woman someday after a marriage that would never come. “A man of God,” Robert told others. It wasn’t a lie, not really. He went to church on Sundays, he did work for Father Juan Carlo, but there were quite a few nights alone with Doc where he’d use the Lord’s name in vain, so to speak.

Robert and Doc had an agreement to keep up appearances. John Henry was allowed to flirt with other women, seduce them into bed. He had an image to maintain for the public. Still, after every night he spent with a stranger, Doc would make his way back to Robert with gifts of apology and nights with twice the amount of passion he gave to those women. It stung, yes, but it was necessary to avoid suspicion. Doc had to play the womanizer just as much as Robert had to play the virgin.

Robert set the book down on his desk, next to a newspaper he had saved, an advertisement for a small farm circled twice in ink. This could be their haven. The privacy of a little house with no neighbours for miles, one bed to share, some animals to raise. John Henry could return there after his missions with Wyatt to a home-grown, home-cooked meal.

“I never took you as a farmer,” John Henry had teased when Robert first showed him the advertisement.

“I could learn,” Robert pouted. “It would be worth it. For you. For us.”

Doc rubbed Robert’s upper arm with his calloused hand. “Put on a little muscle with all that labour.”

“Whatever would you do then?”

Doc had chuckled, gently kissing his sweetheart. His breath smelled like whiskey covering up a more metallic taste.

“We could raise chickens,” Robert had suggested after the kiss. “Have fresh eggs for breakfast every morning.”

“Apple trees,” Doc added. “For cider.”

“And pies.”

“And what would I need apple pies for when I have something as sweet as you?”

* * *

Doc just walked differently when he was visiting Robert. A little quicker. A little more upright. A lot more whistling.

He held the roses with care, a bouquet he bought from an old florist who, with a wink, had told John Henry that this must be for a very special young lady.

John Henry Holliday was the kind of man who got what he wanted and he had never wanted anything more than Robert Svane. They had known each other for nearly a year before Doc finally made his move.

Wyatt and Doc had been staying over in Robert’s apartment for the night. Wyatt was out cold on a cot nearby, exhaustion and alcohol pulling him into a slumber so deep that had it not been for the rise and fall of his chest, you would have thought Wyatt to be a dead man.

Doc was taking his time finishing his drink. Robert had opted for tea instead.

“It surprises me,” Doc spoke up. “That a gentleman like you does not have a sweetheart.”

Robert adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit that John Henry found endearing. “I’m not exactly as good with women as you are,” he admitted.

“Then perhaps I could teach you.” Doc stood from the table. “Be courteous. Remove your hat and look them in the eye,” he said, removing his hat and placing it over his heart.

Robert nodded, his heart racing as he stared into Doc’s eyes.

“Introduce yourself. Say something like… pardon me, but I could not help but see that such a beautiful woman was drinking alone. May I sit?”

Doc sat back down across from Robert. “Th- then what?” Robert asked.

“Compliment her. Tell her that not even the ocean could match her blue eyes in beauty.”

“And if she doesn’t have blue eyes?” Robert asked, Doc’s subtle advances flying over his head.

Doc ignored the question, continuing with his instructions. “Put your hand right here,” he said, placing his own on Robert’s upper thigh, the other man tensing up at his touch. “Allow her to remove it if she so wishes.” 

Robert did not remove Doc’s hand.

“Move closer and kiss her.”

“How?”

“Like this.” Doc tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips against Robert’s, moving his other hand up to cup his cheek.

It was the first of many secret kisses.

* * *

Doc woke up with his chest pressed against Robert’s back. A sliver of sunlight broke through the curtains, leaving a line of light across the blanket.

John Henry felt Robert’s position shift. Doc pressed a kiss against his shoulder. “Good morning, love.”

Robert rolled over to face Doc. He looked so different without those glasses of his. He smiled. “Good morning.”

Doc kissed him again before slipping out of bed and into their morning routine. He slipped on the change of clothes he had brought with him before packing away the garments he had hastily left on the floor last night.

Robert put on a robe and his glasses before moving about his kitchenette, putting together a small breakfast.

“Here,” Robert said as Doc fumbled with his buttons, sleep having dampened his dexterity. Robert’s nimble fingers did up Doc’s shirt, straightened his collar, and rested on his shoulders for a moment. “Where would you be without me?”

After a quick meal of buttered bread, an apple, and coffee, it was time to go. Doc gave Robert a kiss goodbye and climbed out the window, making his way down the fire escape as quietly as his feet would let him.

* * *

Robert sat on his bed, patching up a hole in one of Doc’s shirts.

“This is the third shirt, John Henry Holliday,” Robert huffed. The needle between his fingers moved quickly in and out of the fabric. “I swear you do this on purpose.

Doc stood nearby, his chest bare, leaning against the wall of Robert’s apartment. “Me? Nooo.”

Robert rolled his eyes and kept stitching. 

“Would you rather it were my trousers?”

“John Henry!”

Doc chuckled. He climbed onto the bed behind Robert, draping himself over the man.

“I can’t work in these conditions,” Robert complained, adjusting his glasses. “You’re a proper menace. You’re going to be the death of me.”

“You love me,” Doc purred. 

Robert turned his head to give him a kiss. “I do.”

* * *

Doc had stopped kissing Robert lately. The consumption was getting worse, and it looked like it was just a matter of time before he’d end up six feet under.

He lay in Robert’s bed, looking at his beau with tired eyes.

“Why do you stay?” Doc asked. “Surely you’d be happier finding someone else, someone healthier.”

“I don’t want someone else,” Robert told him, gently stroking Doc’s hair. “So I will stay, no matter what."

They lay on the bed in silence for a while longer.

“I received a telegram today,” Robert said. “I was hoping it was from you, but-”

“It’s Wyatt, isn’t it?” Doc asked.

Robert nodded. “Asking me to help him and Juan Carlo take care of Sheriff Clootie.”

“You should,” Doc replied without hesitation.

“No. No, I won’t leave you. They can handle it,” Robert insisted.

Doc took his lover’s hand, rubbing the dragon claw ring Robert always wore-- Doc’s first gift to him. “If I were stronger, I would join him. They need all the help they can get.”

“I _can’t_ leave you,” Robert rephrased.

“I’ll be here,” Doc said. “I promise to not die until you get back.” 

“Don’t talk like that,” Robert begged. “Please.”

* * *

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Doc was going to find Robert and tell him “Look! Look at me! I’m healthy again!” He was supposed to sweep Robert off his feet and kiss him -- he missed kissing him -- he was supposed to tell Robert that they could run away now and buy their farm with their little house, with their chickens, with their apple trees--

But he was at the bottom of a God. Damn. Well.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

“Help!” Doc screamed. “Anybody, help me!”

He screamed until his throat was hoarse, clawed at the side of the well until his fingers bled, then screamed some more.

He hated the dark. He hated tight spaces. He hated, absolutely hated being alone.

“Somebody-”

“H- Henry?”

Doc craned his neck to look up, squinting to try and see the owner of the voice.

“John Henry, is that you?”

“Robert…” Doc sighed. “Robert, dear lord, it’s me!”

Robert was leaning over the well, leaning on one arm, the other one tucked into his jacket. Someone else was with him.

“Right where I told you he’d be.”

Doc clenched his teeth. “Constance fucking Clootie.”

“Hello, John Henry,” she purred in that disgustingly sweet tone of hers. “I brought you a visitor.”

“Robert,” Doc begged. “Robert, please let me out.”

Constance threw her head back and laughed, blonde ringlets shaking. “John Henry, did you really think it would be that simple?”

Why was Robert hunched over like that?

“I’ll give Robert some rope if you give him the ring,” Constance explained.

Doc twisted the silver ring. “This ring is all that’s keeping me alive.”

“I _know_ that, you imbecile, I gave it to you,” she hissed. “But it’ll keep your precious Robert alive, too.”

“Robert?”

“It’s nothing,” Robert lied, terribly. “I’m fine.”

“Old Wyatt shot him,” Constance explained. “Such a noble sacrifice, Svane.”

“I did what I had to do,” Robert insisted through gritted teeth. 

Constance drew his arm out of his jacket and pressed a spool of thread into his bloodied glove. “Either he dies, or you do. Make your choice, Doc.” She spat the last word out like an insult.

It was a game to her, making him choose. “Let me up and I’ll give you the ring.”

“Ring _first,”_ Constance insisted. She pushed the spool down as Robert held one end between his fingers, the other end dangling before Doc.

“No,” Robert muttered.

The thread went slack, falling at Doc’s feet.

“Robert, what the hell are you doing?!” Doc yelled.

“I am not letting you die for me.”

“You’ll rot in Hell,” Constance sneered.

“For him, I would do anything.”

“Well then,” the witch huffed. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

With nothing more than the howl of the winter wind, she was gone.

“I’ll find some rope…” Robert turned away, crumbling to his knees after a single step.

“Robert?!”

“I’m here,” his lover replied, pressing his back against the cold stone. “I’m sorry.”

Doc hit his fist against the well. “You should have taken the ring!”

“You’d die.”

“You _are_ dying.”

“I know…” Robert mumbled. “I know. Cursed to burn in Hell until resurrected as a demon.”

“You don’t deserve that.”

“I am sorry. I don’t have the strength to find something to get you out.”

“Don’t be sorry, please,” Doc begged. “Just you being here is enough.”

“Will you wait for me?” Robert asked.

Doc nodded, eyes brimming with tears. “As long as it takes.”

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” Robert mumbled. “I will fear no evil, for you are with me...”

The prayer trailed off.

“Robert?”

* * *

Years slipped by slowly and John Henry had only himself for company. Robert-- no. Robert’s _corpse_ was likely still up there, at the mercy of animals and the elements. He didn’t want to think about that. If anyone had come to collect it, surely Doc would have heard them and cried for help. 

Sometimes he found himself talking to Robert. Random musings about the weather or what objects the clouds looked like or old memories they shared. He’d catch himself then wonder, _“Have I finally lost it?”_

Little scratches on the stone bricks marked every full moon Doc had seen. If Doc’s math was correct, it had been around forty years. Four decades and not a wrinkle on his skin, an itchy throat, without his stomach so much as rumbling. And at what cost? Robert’s life? Sending his lover down to Hell? Even though he hadn’t been the one to make the decision, he felt just as guilty.

The silence that had become so familiar to him was broken with a scream. At first Doc thought someone had stumbled across Robert’s body and begun to panic, but the scream sounded too wild, almost inhuman. On the other hand it was pitched far too low to be a fox’s cry and was too hoarse to be a wolf’s howl. Doc’s pistols flew from their holsters into the air like they were grabbed and thrown by unseen hands. They hit the side of the well and clattered to the ground, quivering.

The screaming trailed off into loud sobs. “Please--” A low voice begged. The pitch shifted, becoming familiar. “Please…”

“Robert?” Doc stood, trying to get a better look out of the well. “Robert is that you?”

Doc could hear Robert panting, his breathing unsteady. “H- Henry. Joh- John Henry?”

“It’s me, darlin’, I’m here!” Doc shouted. “I’m here, you’re okay.”

* * *

Robert was very much not okay. Time in Hell felt different. Longer. Every year that passed on Earth felt like ten down below.

How they had delighted in Robert’s appearance. So rare was it that an innocent man arrived in Hell. They were much more fun.

Robert had suffered unimaginable pain for centuries. Only the thought of coming back, his promise of freeing John Henry had kept him going.

The sudden shock of being back was jarring, like falling out of a sauna and into snow. The sunlight blinded him, his skin stung, and damn his back _burned_. His clothes were gone, either decayed away with time like his flesh or stolen by scavengers. As he threw himself forward onto his knees, a tarnished pair of glasses slipped from his face. 

Robert screamed with fresh vocal cords. The glasses on the grass bent and twisted, the already fragile lenses cracking as the frame crumbled into a ball like it was made of clay.

The sound of John Henry’s voice brought him back to reality. “I’m here, you’re okay.”

Robert stood, leaning against the well for support. His legs felt like jelly. “Rope.”

“Now, running off immediately doesn’t sound like a good idea,” Doc told him. “You sound like you need a break, love.”

“I pr- I promised--”

“I’ve lasted forty years down here, Robert. I can wait another few hours. I promised you I’d wait.”

Robert sat down, lifting his hand up to readjust his glasses.

The glasses that had fallen off.

The glasses that were now a ball of wire and shards of glass.

The glasses he could see perfectly fine without.

And luckily, by some minor miracle, the ring Doc had given him long ago was still intact and on his finger where it belonged.

“I missed you,” Doc confessed.

Robert threw his head back and laughed for the first time in decades. “Dear lord, you have no idea how much _I_ missed _you_.”

A minute of silence.

“I’m alright now,” Robert said.

“Are you quite sure?” Doc asked. “Do you want to talk about--”

"No." Robert cut him off. “No, at least not until you’re up here with me.”

Doc thought for a second. “Now where would we find rope?”

“And clothes,” Robert added.

“Clothes?” Doc asked. “Why Robert, are you naked up there?” he purred.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Robert said with a grin, leaning over the well. 

There he was at the bottom, a little dirtier than he had been when they’d last met, but just as beautiful as before: John Henry Holliday. “The church will be empty.”

“I’ll find something.”

* * *

That something had been a half hour walk down the dirt road to a farm. Nobody was in the fields, but to be honest, Robert didn’t really care if someone saw him or not. If he could survive literal Hell, he could deal with the embarrassment of being seen in the nude.

Nobody answered when he knocked on the farmhouse door. Out at the market, maybe? Church? Didn’t matter.

There was a newspaper on the doorstep. Robert picked it up and unrolled it.

“Purgatory Herald. August 7, 1929.”

  1. He’d been dead for forty-two years. 



Robert tucked the paper under his arm. He and John Henry deserved to know what was going on in the world, catch up to speed.

Clothes… he could break in-- no that would cause more harm than necessary. 

The scarecrow? The many holes and all that straw would be less than comfortable.

The washing line? Perfect. Robert muttered a couple unheard apologies as he unclipped a few things from the line. A little too big for him, but they’d do. He slipped on the wellington boots left on the porch and went off looking for rope.

* * *

Doc was enjoying the sunshine on his face when the end of a rope hit his nose.

“Grab on.”

Doc obliged. “Hold it steady, I’ll climb up.”

He gave the rope a tug to make sure it was taught then grabbed hold with both hands. His shoes pressed against the stone walls, crumbling slightly as he went.

After some time and effort, he was out. He was free.

He was free and Robert was there, alive and well-- or as well as one in his situation could be. His clothes were ill-fitting and mismatched, his adorable glasses abandoned, a small patch of white hair stained his beard like his eyebrow. Doc wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him tight. Robert let out a noise as Doc’s hands found his back.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Doc pulled away and asked.

“Nothing,” Robert replied quickly. “It’s nothing.”

“It most certainly is not ‘nothing’, Robert.”

“I’m fine, Henry. We should go find someplace to eat--”

“Let me take a look at it--” Doc’s hands were already reaching for Robert’s shirt.

“I said it’s fine!” Robert snapped. His blue eyes turned red like embers, voice dropping in pitch.

Doc stumbled back, eyes wide

“No… No, I--” Roberts eyes faded back to normal. “I didn’t mean--”

Doc pulled him in for another hug, careful to avoid Robert’s back. He rubbed his shoulder gently. “It’s alright.”

Robert was tense at first, slowly collapsing in Doc’s arms, burying his face in the other man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be sorry, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Doc assured him.

“I’m a monster.”

“You are Robert Svane,” Doc corrected, pressing a gentle kiss against his lover’s head. “You are my sweetheart. And I will be here for you no matter what. You and I, we’ll figure out this curse together."

Doc pulled away and wiped Robert’s tears with the pad of his thumb. “We can go see if that farm is still available.”

Robert smiled. “With the little house?”

“And the chickens.”

“And the apple trees.”

* * *

Doc sat by the radio and polished his pistols. The outside world had moved on without him and Robert. Doc Holliday had apparently died in a hotel room of consumption-- pardon, _tuberculosis_ \-- and Robert Svane went missing without a search party. 

Technology had changed, automobiles where everywhere and they had gone ahead and banned alcohol. Alcohol! Like that was going to stop Doc. He had his ways. Some rather profitable ways.

Robert had changed too, and not just physically. He seemed to be more confident, more sure of himself. He’d gotten quite talented with those powers of his. His less than conventional fashion sense had changed, but did not become more conventional in any way.

Robert-- though he tended to go by Bobo these days-- walked in wearing that monstrous fur coat of his, coated in snow. Kicking off his boots, he waved his hand and the axe that had been dragging itself behind him floated over to its resting place in the corner.

“You do like to show off, love,” Doc chided.

“My hands are full,” Bobo explained, lifting the stack of wood in his arms. “Besides, you find it ‘incredibly attractive,’” he drawled, mimicking Doc’s vernacular.

Doc set his pistol down on the table. “You are not wrong,” he admitted.

Bobo hung up his coat before he knelt down and stacked the wood next to the fireplace.

John Henry let himself drop onto the couch, holding his arms out for his lover. “I missed you.”

“I was right outside,” Bobo chuckled, walking over.

Doc gently pulled Bobo down on top of him then draped a blanket over them both. “Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you.”

Bobo hummed, making himself comfortable against Doc’s chest. 

They lay there entwined, letting the fire warm them, listening to the crackle of the fire and the music on the radio.

In moments like this, life felt almost normal again. Like the curse didn’t matter. But they would figure out that curse together. After all, they had eternity.


End file.
